


They call it a thigh gap

by PoemAboutCitylights



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Body Positivity, Body Worship, First Kiss, Fluff, Insecurities, M/M, they're gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-26 01:00:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19757350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoemAboutCitylights/pseuds/PoemAboutCitylights
Summary: Aziraphale has insecurities and Crowley is not amused.





	They call it a thigh gap

**Author's Note:**

  * For [summerofspock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/gifts).



Crowley had always cared about his looks.  
He held pride in the fact that he always went with the time and caught up with the latest trends (even though he had to admit that some decades had been a bit of a fauxpas, in hindsight; looking at you, 80s).  
He didn’t really give a shit about other people’s opinions, though. As long as he liked his fashion, he was content, and after 6000 years on earth, he had pretty much given up on humans’ taste, anyway.  
(Not to mention the fact that some products of human _fashion_ were his demonic work).  
He wouldn’t speak it out loud but negative comments on his style just _sometimes_ stung a little bit, though.  
He was a modern guy, after all.

Who he didn’t consider someone who would take any interest in other people’s preferences was Aziraphale.  
The angel had been wearing the same type of clothes for centuries now, almost as long as Crowley could remember (and now _that_ had to mean something!).

So when Crowley swaggered into the angel’s bookshop, shortly after the Apocawasn’t, and found Aziraphale in front of a mirror, turning back and forth, smothering down his waistcoat, Crowley’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.  
“What’s up?” Crowley asked, plopping down on the couch and making himself comfortable by spreading his long limps with a sigh.  
Aziraphale jumped, apparently so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed the demon coming in.  
He turned around and revealed a deep frown on his pale face.  
Crowley felt a trace of worry fluttering in his chest.  
He sat up a little straighter and examined his friend.  
“Did something happen, angel?”  
Aziraphale evened out his vest and coughed, the frown mixing up with what appeared like confusion.  
“I’m, ehm,” the angel started and Crowley’s spine straightened a little more, “I’m not so sure.”  
“Spit it out, angel,” Crowley said and made a waving gesture with his hand, to support his words.  
Aziraphale’s gaze dropped to the floor and he coughed once again, a nervous sound that Crowley hadn’t heard since Satan himself had nearly discorporated them once and for all.  
“You’re not feeling bad about yourself again because you dropped one of your old books, are you?” Crowley asked, shuddering at the memory of Aziraphale being inconsolable over the loss of his original Shakespearean draft for almost half a century.  
“I’m certainly not,” Aziraphale answered and a sad smile was tugging on his usually so cheerful lips.  
Getting the impression that something was seriously depressing his friend, Crowley got up from the couch and stepped closer.  
“Have you heard something from your people? From Gabriel?”  
Aziraphale shook his head tentatively, turning away from Crowley to take a look at himself in the mirror once again.  
“What is it then, angel?” Crowley asked in a tone so soft that he would have cursed himself just a couple of weeks ago for it.  
“I…” Aziraphale let out a shaky breath and the frown was back on his face, “I watched some _television_ again. _Reality-television_.”  
“Angel! You know that stuff was invented by my peop-… by the downstairs department! What did I tell you about it?”  
“You told me not to watch it,” Aziraphale replied with a unhappy sigh, “I’m sorry.”  
“Don’t you say you’re sorry! What got you this upset?”  
Aziraphale finally turned around again and the angel that usually stood so tall and proud, was now hunched, his shoulders falling down.  
“I, I just wanted to watch this new documentary on dolphins. You know I love dolphins. With their smart brains and their language and their-…”  
“ _Angel_ …”  
Aziraphale’s gaze dropped and he sighed once again.  
“There was this show. Where chubby people lose weight and suddenly they’re very popular and well-liked and-…” Aziraphale made a small sound in the back of his throat, “Crowley, did you know that apparently, people with _a little more on their hips_ are not attractive? That they can’t find a partner, or-… or-…” Aziraphale was stammering by now, his face growing a light shade of pink, “or feel like they’re pretty? That they have to be skinny to do so?”  
Crowley felt his heart drop – not that he’d ever admit to having one – and he was pretty sure that he gaped at the angel as well.  
Damnit, he had had his reasons to tell Aziraphale to stay away from that devilish medium.  
“Aziraphale,” he started, stepping a little closer to his best friend and feeling how his voice was fluttering, “ _Aziraphale_.”  
“Y-yes?”  
“How… How could you even believe that bullshit?”  
The angel seemed to be a bit taken aback by his harsh voice and the obvious anger in his tone and Aziraphale blinked at him a few times, without answering.  
“You see them everywhere, don’t you? Fit people with muscles and flat bellies and this thing that I believe they call a _thigh_ _gap_.”  
Crowley noticed how Aziraphale’s hand came to rest on his own not-so-flat belly and Crowley swallowed hard.  
“I… Everyone wants to… wants to feel pretty, don’t you think? Not just humans but… but angels… and demons… as well.”  
“Aziraphale!” Crowley’s voice came out way harsher than intended and the angel flinched.  
“ _Aziraphale_ ,” Crowley repeated, barely audible this time, the angel’s name coming out like a pained whimper.  
“Y-yes, my dear?”  
Crowley closed his eyes. Not that Aziraphale could see that, anyway, but how could Aziraphale even _think_ he wasn’t pretty? Adorable, _adorable_ _Aziraphale_ , with his soft chest and his round body, so warm and smooth that Crowley wanted to hug it, to _wrap himself around it_ if he was still a snake. To seek that warmth and feel his friend close.  
“Aziraphale,” Crowley said another time, one more time before he raised a hand to cup the angel’s jaw but stopped halfway through the action.  
Maybe they weren’t ready for that, yet.  
“You’re beautiful, angel. You’re beautiful and you’re pretty and you’re adorable. You’re perfect, perfect, perfect.”  
Crowley underlined his words by softly tabbing against Aziraphale’s chest not once but thrice, making sure to look the angel right in the eyes while saying so.  
He then remembered that he was still wearing his dark glasses and quickly disposed of them, finding Aziraphale staring at him with an unreadable expression a blink of an eye later.  
“You’re… you’re making fun of me…” Aziraphale whispered, turning away from Crowley, who felt his blood freeze in his veins.  
“I’m not making fun of you, angel!” Crowley snapped and held Aziraphale by his shoulder, forcing him to turn back around.  
“I don’t like you teasing me,” the blond said in a quiet voice and Crowley’s breath got caught in his lungs, feeling like something was going terribly wrong.  
When the only friend he ever had looked at him with that sadness in his eyes, Crowley’s brain did something he could only explain as a _moment of madness_.  
Driven by all remaining courage he could gather, he leaned in, cupped Aziraphale’s soft cheek with his own slender hand and kissed him, hard, to get his message across as clear as possible.  
Aziraphale made the most adorable noise of surprise in the back of his throat, before Crowley could feel the angel leaning into his hand, their foreheads coming together.  
“I’m not making fun of you, angel,” Crowley repeated and pulled the other one into the tight hug he had been craving of millennia now.  
And Satan, Aziraphale in his arms felt even better than he had imagined it to feel, all warm and soft and _round_ , blissfully so in a way Crowley was sure no demon should ever feel like.  
When they eventually parted, their foreheads still touching, Aziraphale smiled, biting down on his pink bottom lip in the most adorable way, with that hint of doubt still visible in his eyes.  
So Crowley pulled him along until the back of his legs hit the couch, pulling Aziraphale down with him who protested at first but eventually settled in the demon’s arms.  
Crowley reached up a hand to run it through the angel’s blond locks, letting one curl wrap itself around his finger.  
“You’re a beautiful creature, angel.”  
“I’m…” Aziraphale started, blushing in a deep shade of pink, “do you really think so?”  
“Of course I do!”  
Aziraphale bit down on his bottom lip once again, still not entirely convinced, but blushing even more when Crowley’s hand wandered down his back to grope his ass.  
“But even Gabriel is fit and office grapevine says he’s got a sixpack-…”  
“Oh _fuck_ Grabriel!” Crowley exclaimed and started nibbling on Aziraphale’s neck.  
“Uhm…” Aziraphale made, pressing a light kiss to that spot right below Crowley’s tattoo, “Dear, I’d rather -- ” _kiss_ , “…you?”

**Author's Note:**

> So I read the most beautiful body worship fanfiction (see gift) yesterday and I just had to give it a try myself.  
> I hope you enjoyed this as much as a certainly enjoyed writing it <3
> 
> And please tell me what you think! :)


End file.
